


Therapeutic

by Artifex_Verbum



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Admissions, Confessions, M/M, Revenge Sex, Therapy, mentions of coronavirus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26369149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artifex_Verbum/pseuds/Artifex_Verbum
Summary: Martin returns to Claremont, but life is not the same. For starters, after spending a year away, he has a new individual therapist...one who looks remarkably like his son and opens a whole can of worms.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & Martin Whitly, Malcolm Bright/Martin Whitly
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	Therapeutic

It was good to be home. 

Wasn’t it? 

Why was a frown trying to fix itself upon Martin’s face if he was so glad to be back? He’d been returned to Claremont after a tumultuous and lengthy year. 

Twelve months without seeing Malcolm. Several very real brushes with death - three involving makeshift weapons, one group beatdown, and one terrifying bout of Coronavirus that he very nearly did not overcome. 

It took far too long for the vaccine to trickle down to prisons. By the time it had arrived, Martin had already experienced the virus, survived it, and seen as much death in Rikers in one year as he had in the entirety of his time as a surgeon. 

At one point, the prison had even put him to work as a doctor - unofficially of course. 

Malcolm had put in a request to get him transferred back to Claremont only a month into his stay at Rikers, but the wheels of change were rusted and rotted with bureaucracy and bullshit. 

Perhaps that is why the frown clung to him even though he was grateful to be back at Claremont… it was because of Malcolm. He missed his boy after spending a year suffocating in his absence. 

How quickly Malcolm’s dark deed of hiding Ainsley’s murderous event was superseded by the rapidly changing world. 

How easy it was to slip back into his life at Claremont, appearing - physically - the same, but internally changed. The horrors he’d witnessed at Rikers left a very permanent impression on the doctor who would wake from nightmares on a daily basis. 

“Martin, so glad you could make it to therapy today,” Dr. Higa grinned at Whitly. He had a familiar brown clipboard in his grasp and crinkles at the corners of his eyes as he smiled. 

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” the words were supposed to drop from Martin’s lips with mirth but they only sounded sad and defeated. 

He was no fool, he knew that the psychiatric hospital had been abuzz with talk of his comeback...the prodigal prisoner returned. If only he had arrived the same man who had left. 

He wondered how this group therapy session would go. How long would it take them to realize that he had been emotionally battered and mentally broken? The horrors he’d seen coupled with his boy’s twelve month absence had left him cored out. Hollow as a Jack-o-lantern and rotting in the hot fall sun. 

He couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before the other inmates and therapists sniffed out the change in him. 

Trying not to trudge or mope, Dr. Whitly entered the familiar group therapy space and found his usual metal chair. He kept his lips pressed together and his eyes lit, despite knowing the spark behind them was long extinguished. 

People were afraid to talk to him and he was grateful for that. 

The animated chatter around the doctor eventually died down to a hush as Dr. Higa entered and took his customary seat. 

Martin shifted in the uncomfortable cold chair and he pulled at his pant leg. It was odd seeing people without face masks. He looked around and then - 

His heart thudded and skipped as his gaze fell upon an unfamiliar face. All of the saliva in his mouth instantly fled and his lips hung open, parted. 

For, perhaps his first time in a group setting, Martin didn’t check his expression, he didn't monitor his own reaction or school his features into place. He had simply looked up and saw a young man sitting next to Dr. Higa who looked *remarkably* similar to his son and he reacted accordingly. 

“Everyone. This is Dr. Henson. He is our new individual therapist. To get his feet wet and introduced to everyone, he’s going to be sitting in our group session today.” 

Dr. Henson nodded and gave a conciliatory smile, his eyes sweeping the circle and noticeably snagging on Dr. Whitly before forcibly continuing on. 

Martin found it incredibly hard to breathe.

Now he was truly beginning to panic. How was he going to focus enough to get through this session? To not only hide his own trauma but now...this...fascination he felt towards this therapist? 

It was remarkable, the resemblance. 

His hair was darker and he was a bit less muscular than Malcolm, but his height was the same and his eyes...although shaped differently, were the same shade of gray-blue that plagued Martin’s every waking thought. 

“Martin, why don’t we start with you?” Dr. Hilga spoke, snapping The Surgeon out of his reverie. “You’re usually quick to volunteer to go first...and...you’ve been gone an entire year. I’m sure you have a lot to share.” 

Whitly swallowed and rubbed at his chin with his dominant hand. The skin beneath his digits was soft to the touch. He desperately missed his beard and the hiding it afforded him. It was too easy to feel naked this way. Exposed. Add to that being clothed in the ironically pure blinding white for the first time in months, hot under the glare of eleven pairs of eyes, and boiling in the slice of morning light that cut the room in half, and he was a handful of heartbeats away from panicking.

“I don’t feel like sharing today,” Martin looked at Dr. Higa as he spoke and prayed that his statement wouldn’t meet any resistance. 

“Well that’s...unusual for you...maybe even a first?” 

“First time for everything I suppose,” Martin huffed a dry laugh that had to have conveyed his nervousness. Belatedly realizing that he let his veneer slip, he tried to recover with, “I’ve only just got back and have some readjusting to do. So...next time.” 

Luckily for him, the good doctor did not press the issue. 

The other inmates picked up the mantle and continued the session as usual. Martin remembered to feign interest and mask his disinterest, which was no small feat. 

About halfway into the group therapy session, he felt eyes hot upon him and shifted his eyes to the source of that heat. Dr. Hanson was looking at him...and when Martin caught him...he did not turn his gaze away, but rather doubled down on holding it.

So they sat there for several moments, their eyes not battling for dominance, but not exploring either, just trained on one another. 

After that moment, the rest of the session went relatively quickly. 

An hour after sitting, Martin was standing and watching the inmates shuffle out of the room. He moved to join them in leaving for lunch but Dr. Higa stopped him. 

“Martin,” he said with fake congeniality. 

“Is everything alright? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that quiet during group.” 

Martin prepared to answer when he saw Dr. Hanson walk up to stand beside Higa. He couldn’t help but be distracted just long enough for it to be noticeable.

“I obtained your file from Rikers,” Dr. Higa tried to recapture his attention. “It appears that you’ve endured considerable trauma while at the prison,” he ventured. Martin folded his hands together and shifted his weight. 

“I think it could do you some good to talk about these things in therapy. Perhaps if you’re not comfortable sharing in group just yet, you could talk to Dr. Hanson individually,” he motioned to his colleague. Martin’s eyes followed. 

“I think that’s a good idea,” Martin nodded. 

“Great. Tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow.”


End file.
